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No, Sentient, I have not had Gleevec. As for the Canadian, I would think there's little problem getting the drug shipped back to you in the U.S. once you have a prescription on file with one of the more reputable Canadian mail order drug distributors. My doc told me about another drug that counters the effects of the anemia, but he said I couldn't afford it. In any case, he says new drugs for CLL are coming along all the time. Apparently there is even a pill that can be taken. Or so he says. And BTW, the only cure I could have now would be stem cell transplant and he says I am too old to survive the process.

James, I remembered you talking about your CLL, and I'm glad you joined.

My dad was on Ritoxin for his lymphoma. He did pretty well for a couple of years, but he was in his mid 80s. Then his prostate cancer and bladder cancer added to the mix. Still, he was 91 when he died.

I wondered if you were on Gleevec for CLL. That is what I'm on for GIST. It also treats CLL but the insurance companies don't like the cost - for CLL, I think it's about $120,000 a year. In Canada it costs about 10% that - very roughly. I thought about offering to my health plan, fly me to Toronto, put me up in a nice hotel, give me a week off for sick leave, and arrange for a Canadian oncologist to write me an Rx for a Canadian pharmacy. For my dose of Gleevec, the USA cost is about $88,000 a year, while the Canadian generic is in the range of $10,000 a year. I could save the health plan beaucoup moola. But it might not be legal for a US plan to make use of a Canadian Rx.

Chronic lymphocytic leukemia for the past 13 years. Two chemos, the first with Fludarabine and Cytoxin; the second, Ritoxin and some other drug. (I try to not keep track of detail too much when it comes to my dis-ease.) The only side effect is anemia, but then at 71 I probably am supposed to tire easily anyway. When diagnosed, I was told that the bad news was I had CLL. The good news was, I probably would die of natural causes. I'd drink to that if I hadn't quit almost 20 years ago.

Oh! dear Trixie, your is bad news, indeed! I am very sorry to learn that your husband and friends don't seem to "get it"! Having a 10 year old son with severe autism makes the need for health vitality important. Yes, he does need you and with your fatigue and radical medical surgery, there is just not the energy one needs to meet all your challenges. Being 35 does not bring comfort, knowing the unpredictable nature of this dread disease.

I am 78 years old and I have two cousins who had breast cancer. Thankfully, we all survived the treatment and have clear follow-up exams.

Before getting diagnosed, one feels so invulnerable, but the mere mention of the word puts everything into a new frame.

One day at a time, wake up grateful to have another sunrise, and go to sleep thankful for one more day. I don't know how else to face this. Each moment is precious, especially in your situation. There are so many feeling that emerge: fear, anger, worry, helplessness, loneliness and these seem to creep in at unexpected moment. Joy, pleasure, gratitude, solace, and equanimity take deliberate effort.

Early on, I made up my mind that cancer does not define me and I intended to be happy as much as possible. When sadness did invade, I welcomed it as a sign that I was not being Pollyannish about this. I faced a life threatening disease.

Our age difference makes a big in contrast in how we experience cancer. In another month my sixth great-grandchild is due. I feel sad that I may not be around too much longer to see them grow and develop. Your encounter with cancer comes at a stage of your son's development that means there is more at stake. I have no answer to offer, and not even an idea that might reassure you. I can tell you that I hear your loneliness, and so do the others who read your comment. You are not alone. Even though we are virtual friends, we are steadfast and able to listen to whatever you want to express. We are here for you.

This is a corny gesture, but I just want to send you a little beauty to brighten your day. Please forgive the unoriginal thought.

Be sure to read Sentient's cancer blog. He gives in so many ways, always a gentle and insightful one to maintain perspective. His "14 months and counting" tell the truth about his journey, no holds barred. No pretenses. No phony platitudes.

My thoughts are with you and welcome to the Atheist Nexus Cancer group.

Trixie, I know what you mean, several of us had diagnoses of cancer about a year and a half ago, and Sentient Biped started this group for support. The support of people who had been through the processes joined in to walk us through the difficult experiences, always reminding us that they survived the treatments and are alive to tell their stories.

Having good professionals helping you make decisions provides incredible comfort, and those who have had the diagnosis and treatment provide emotional support.

I started thinking in terms of teams. My medical team gave me information and research to help make decisions, and provided the treatments that had the highest probability of killing the cancer cells. My family team gathered around me with great devotion and love, my great-grandchildren team kept me company when I wanted it and made me laugh, my neighbors team dropped off notes or little bites of things they thought might taste good (nothing did), my professional chefs team helped concoct things that had nourishment and would stay inside me instead of flushing through, my hair care team help make me feel acceptable as all the hair on my body fell off, my pharmacy team helped me find things that helped me not feel so icky, any of course, my Atheist Nexus team was available night and day to encourage me and inspire me. As the year wore on, as my chemo team reassured me, my radiation team supplied me with salves and ointments, as each protocol was completed, and as I began to feel human again, I felt I had faced the challenge the very best ways possible and now am almost fully recovered. I could only do a few things each day, and slowly my strength came back.

Each one of us had different ways of coping and we can offer ideas that you can try. If they help, great; if not, well we are here to hear your joys and fears, your hopes and disappointments, your determination and your hopelessness. One day at a time, one minute at a time, just to keep a small, wee spark of hope alive, you, too, will make your journey doing the best you can. We make this passage with you. You are not alone.